


A Showing of Cards

by BishopDeaconCardinal



Series: A Bad Idea, Probably [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Deepthroating, Hair-pulling, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22215865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BishopDeaconCardinal/pseuds/BishopDeaconCardinal
Summary: Carrington reluctantly finds himself in Goodneighbor. Deacon (un)coincidentally also happens to be in Goodneighbor. So do memories of the past.
Relationships: Doctor Carrington/Deacon (Fallout)
Series: A Bad Idea, Probably [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590382
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	A Showing of Cards

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal love to @locketofyourhair

Carrington doesn’t make it a habit to go up top more than to attempt to stave off cabin fever. So to find himself in Goodneighbor was wholly unusual and quite frankly unwelcome. But Amari had needed his help and she wasn’t to be told no.

From the work she did to the very dangerous location she had chosen to set up shop (though he admits it is better since the recent change in leadership of Goodneighbor), she’s too valuable for him to embrace the cave troll life that beckons him underground when she requests his assistance. 

It’s too late in the night to make the trip back to HQ, the worry with Amari over, so he finds himself half asleep making his way towards the Rexford. He deeply hopes he can obtain a room that smells less like vomit but the odds aren’t in his favor. 

A child bolts past his legs and nearly sent him ass over tea kettle before he catches himself moments before hitting the unforgiving broken pavement. 

“Sorry!” a flustered young man calls as he goes and grabs the child before she trips a memeber of the Neighborhood Watch. “Babs, I’ve begged you not to do that. Come on, we have to-”

A long annoyed whine leaves the child, “Daddy!”

“No. Come on, we have to. Sorry sir, she didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” he drags his daughter back towards a campfire. 

Carrington pulls his hat lower over his eyes, “It’s fine,” and he isn’t going to go into how bad that accent he just attempted was. He just desperately needs to be forgotten and to disappear into a hotel room and he’d be called on his accent before.

Clearly his daughter was an excellent distraction. She wiggles free from the father’s embrace, and as Carrington pushes into the hotel he hears a desperately tired, “Babs!” behind him. 

He goes up to the counter while pulling out the small bag of caps he’d kept in his pocket. Sometimes he finds he doesn’t need to speak if the money is already in hand. He starts to hold up a hand to indicate he needs one room when the woman behind the counter rolls her eyes. 

“Are you Carrie?” she asks and reaches back for a key without waiting for him to answer, “Your little friend is waiting for you. Called himself the pope or something? Is that a sex thing? I’ve never understood you kinky little monsters.” 

Carrington honestly, truly, does not have a response to that. He takes the key from her and stares at the numbering on the tag. 

The Pope?

Ah. 

Deacon. 

He unlocks the room to find Deacon sitting next to a lantern reading a book. Wearing sunglasses. At ten pm. 

The opening of the door paired with a yell from the street causes him to look up. He smiles that annoying shit eating grin of his, “Ah, my good friend has finally arrived.”

“Deacon, we are hardly friends. And I am very much not in the mood to see you. So if I might, get out.” He drops his bag on the dresser beside the door and takes off his hat. 

“Bestie, you wound me. But I do feel the need to point out that this?” Deacon gestures to the single bed and tiny remaining space around it, “Is all mine for the night. I technically paid for it.”

“Dez paid for it, and there are other rooms. I’ll just have to go get another one,” he reaches for his bag once more to carry it back out to the lobby. 

“Ooooh about that. They’re booked. And before you get mad I swear it wasn’t me. I actually came over to get this because I knew they were running low. The Chem convention is in town.”

Another shout of ‘Babs!’ wafts through the thin wall and Carrington rolls his eyes. 

“Aren’t you considerate,” he drops his bag again and starts to unwind his scarf. 

“Look, I’ll make this an easy night for you, bff. I was saving this room for you.” Deacon set his book down and replaces what Carrington thinks is a still wrapped bandage to keep his place. “You make yourself comfy and I’ll be on my way.” he stands, “I just happened to be around and thought I’d drop in.” 

And then it clicks, “You're here to make sure I don’t get killed.”

Deacon frowns, “Of course not.”

“You're more subtle than a heavy, meaning Glory, but still are here to make sure I don’t screw this up. Christ, Dez, I’m a fully trained agent-!” Carrington isn’t sure who he should be mad at. Dez, who he was currently yelling at but was very much not here, or Deacon for revealing himself making it obvious nobody thinks he could take care of himself. 

“When was the last time you left HQ, Doc? And before that, last time you fired a gun not at a radroach?” he isn’t even pretending now to be here on his own volition and that somehow pisses off Carrington more. 

“First, I know better than to waste bullets on a  _ radroach _ , Deacon. And second, I can handle myself. Did you know I have made it this far in life mostly without your assistance?” Carrington can feel the anger boiling in him, but his exhaustion is winning out his ability to come up with more eloquent comebacks. 

“Mostly without my assistance. Mostly. Besides, what’s it matter? You have an extra hand helping you out and I have plans for this fine Wednesday evening we find ourselves having.” he smiles. It was still annoying, “Besides. I can totally make it worth your while.”

“Deacon, I’m very tired-”

He slides to his knees, never breaking eye contact as he looks up over the tops of his sunglasses. 

Carrington swallows, “Deacon.”

Deacon rubs against the front of Carrington’s trousers, the zip unbelievably loud as he risks pulling it down and slipping a few fingers inside to tease, “Just let me take care of you, Doc.”

Carrington shivers as his fingers stroke up against where he is rapidly hardening in his pants. 

He pushes Deacon off and moves past him to sit on the bed before sighing agitatedly and beckoning him over with a gesture. 

Deacon shuffles over and starts on his button. He knows this is to distract him. He knows this is a manipulation tactic to make him forget that he is sort of being babysat. 

When Deacon licks him through his underwear he finds at that moment he doesn’t really care. 

He pushes Deacon’s hat off and finds his hand meeting hair. Had it really been that long since he’d seen Deacon? His hair isn’t long by any means, but long enough to get a handful. He grips it, the blonde strands poking between his fingers as Deacon exposes him to the chilly air of the room. 

He gives a stray thought to the texture being so coarse from bleach before Deacon takes the head of his cock into his mouth and Carrington finds himself less concerned with Deacon’s ever rotating face and hair and more focused on what Deacon’s tongue is doing. 

Deacon lets go of his dick to deep throat him, the show off, and puts his hands on the clothing bunched around Carrington’s thighs. He pulls off a moment and Carrington raises his hips enough to allow Deacon to pull his clothes down off his knees and give him more room to work with. He wraps a hand back around the base and strokes a moment before sucking the tip back in.

Carrington gasps and pulls at Deacon’s hair again. He groans in response and Carrington is very quickly realising how much he likes having this little handhold. He pushes Deacon down a little further and Carrington watches closely to see if that was ok. He likes pushing Deacon, but that didn't mean he wanted to push Deacon too far. 

Deacon let’s out a whine and lowers himself further so his lips met his fist and Carrington grips his hair again. They both groan. 

Carrington is rapidly approaching his end, “Did you want it to end like this?” he’s more breathless than he would have liked to be but Deacon clearly isn’t paying too much attention to that. 

He pulls off “No, can I get on the bed too?”

He was asking without being reminded he needed too. That in itself has Carrington scooting back to allow Deacon to stand and climb up next to him. 

He settles half on the bed, half on Carrington and is working on getting his own pants off. He gets himself out and strokes a moment, his eyes closing clearly taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of his own hand. 

Carrington clears his throat. 

Deacon looks at him like he forgot for a moment he was there and moves to lay next to him, slotting their hips together and grinding against Carrington. Carrington reaches down and wraps his hand around both of them and Deacon gasps, surprised.

Carrington strokes again and had the inane urge to kiss Deacon. He clears that thought with another stoke when a repeated desperate yell outside interrupts. 

He stills his hand a moment to listen. 

Deacon chuckles, “Little rugrats going to be the mood ruiner of the century.” 

This time the panicked yells of ‘Bab’ don’t stop as quickly. Carrington stops touching them both and waits a long moment before a final stern shout of, ‘Barbara’! tore through the now quiet room. 

Deacon goes completely, rigidly, still. 

Carrington’s gaze snaps over to him instantly at the tenseness. 

He then goes from complete stillness to almost manic motion. He rolls off the bed and is pulling his pants back on. “Where’s my hat? Fuck-” he gets himself situatied and Carrington quickly finds himself following suit. 

Deacon’s up and grabbing for his gun under the bed when Carrington gets over to him, “Deacon, stop. Deacon-” he can hear the father reprimanding the kid. Clearly she’s fine. Why was Deacon freaking out than?

He watches Deacon turn off the safety and start to leave the room with his gun at the ready. 

“Deacon, I’m serious, it’s fine! What are you doing? Deacon?” he grabs Deacon’s shoulder to pull him back in when Deacon shoves Carrington fully off him. He stumbles, catching himself on the bed.

“She’s hurt!”

“She isn’t!”

“Barbara’s hurt!” he tries again and Carrington pulls him more firmly into the room. 

“Deacon, I need you to listen to me! It’s fine! She’s fine!” he pushes Deacon against the door and tries to work the gun out of his hand. He doesn’t know what was happening in Deacon’s head but he knows a panic response when he sees one. “Deacon, Deacon look at me.” 

He fights against Carrington, pushing back and throwing an elbow that almost catches him in the ribs. He pushes back against him. 

“Fuck, Deacon please, nothing bad is happening!”

Deacon finally does catch him off guard and forces him off, pushing him back once more. 

Fuck. 

“Sean, Barbara’s fine!”

Deacon whips away from where he had been opening the door again to look at Carrington. He seems to be coming back to himself and seems surprised he has his gun in his hand. He closes his eyes for a long moment and presses his hand to the bridge of his nose and takes a steadying breath. 

A long frozen moment passes before it disapates as he whispers an exhausted, “Fuck.” He closes the door and sets the weapon down next to Carrington’s bag before sitting on the bed. 

Carrington watches him carefully, not moving until he settles as if Deacon will scamper if startled. 

Carefully he says, “Deacon?’

“Let’s never, ever talk about what just happened.” he takes his hat off a moment and runs his hand through his hair before replacing it, “Ever ever ever.”

Carrington stands slowly and sits down next to him on the bed. He isn’t sure what to do or say. He feels that it is very possible that Deacon might disappear into the night and avoid him until they both died. 

Deacon stands up and reaches for his pack, slipping a holster on and pulling on his back pack. Carrington’s suspicion looking more and more correct. 

“I know you're tired. So,” and his voice takes on a lilt of teasing. The only issue is Carrington knows he was just using this to cover himself. Coping with...whatever this is. “I’m walking back to HQ. I know you said you're a big boy so I’m trusting you to get over there safely tomorrow.”

Carrington watches Deacon tuck a knife away on his person and another smaller hold out pistol. It really was surprising how much he could get away with when he wears a jacket. He sighs and stands, reaching for his scarf, “No. Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m fine, bestie,” his heart clearly isn’t in it, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m not,” and even as Carrington says it he knows he was saying it a touch too quickly to be true, “I just don't want Dez to get mad at either of us.” It’s a thin and weak excuse. 

Deacon clearly doesn’t believe it but he doesn’t fight it either. He shoves his book into his pack and hands Carrington his hat, “I’m doing the talking.” 

Carrington rolls his eyes. Obviously. 

Deacon reaches for the knob, his hand pausing before he goes to turn it, “How did you, uh. How did you-?” and he trails off because he clearly is uncomfortable that any old person could figure that out. 

And Carrington reminds him gruffly, “I, much like yourself, am a spy, Deacon.” he straightens the strap on his pack, “I am also a doctor. I understand how sometimes things can take one back to a more unpleasant time. Or take one out. I assure you it won’t come up again.”

Deacon nods, “Doctor/patient confidentiality.”

And he actually finds himself chuckling, “Something like that.”

Unsurprising after they reach HQ, Carrington doesn’t see Deacon for three months. And when he does it’s only to give them warning that one of his projects is coming to a close and they need to be ready in the catacombe for his newest recruit. 

Carrington sighs frustratedly and rolls his eyes, pretending things are normal. Pretending that his thoughts didn’t stray to Deacon a few times over those twelve weeks. Pretending as they had been the whole time. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter! @BDeCardinal


End file.
